


Into The Unknown

by skittenninja



Series: Whumptober 2020 [15]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magic, Magic Revealed, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mind Control, Possession, Whumptober 2019, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittenninja/pseuds/skittenninja
Summary: Whumptober 2020 Day 15: Not only was the servant of the king the perfect vessel to carry out an assassination, but the fact that said servant had magic of his own made the job even better.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Whumptober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949905
Comments: 14
Kudos: 101





	Into The Unknown

Of course magical mishaps decided to happen on one of the only nights in recent memory that Merlin had been sleeping well.

The long day in the heat before had left him completely exhausted, the feeling of finally being able to rest on his bed the greatest luxury in the world. Merlin had been certain that he could sleep for a week, no man nor creature being able to disturb him from finally getting a chance to close his eyes.

He was, unfortunately, wrong about this.

Merlin wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep for when it happened, but it couldn’t have been long. The night sky still hung darkly outside, the light of the moon just barely shining into his room from the top of his window. The world beyond his walls was quiet, the normal bustle of the citadel having fallen to a hush when the sun fell beyond the horizon. All in all, it seemed like a normal night.

But not to Merlin.

There was something in the air, and he knew it was something magical. It felt strange and foreboding, like the time him and Will had been caught out in a thunderstorm and nearly got struck by lightning as kids, except somehow more dangerous. He could feel the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up in the strange atmosphere, a combination of the unexplained energy and of the feeling that he was being watched.

Slowly, Merlin sat up, as if any sudden movements would cause the charge in the air to become volatile. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but even in the shadows, he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No looming figure stood at the foot of his bed, no crooked grin and gleaming eyes peering at him from just behind the cupboard.

By all accounts, nothing was wrong, and had it been anyone else, they would have gone back to sleep.

Merlin knew better.

Slowly again, he got up from his bed, a list of spells at the front of his mind to get rid of whatever was lurking. He still couldn’t see it, even as he started to walk around, but its presence was growing stronger. It almost felt suffocating, like a toxic gas slowly overpowering the air in the room.

Merlin shuddered involuntarily, feeling a strange sensation jolt down his spine. It wasn’t cold, nor was it hot. It just felt bizarre, like Merlin’s body had no idea how to process and categorize the experience.

Then, without warning, it got worse.

It started with a heaviness in Merlin’s chest. A tight, constricting feeling, like something was sitting on it. Breathing suddenly took all of his concentration and Merlin instinctively put a hand up to his ribs, as if he could rip the problem out somehow.

The magical charge in the air changed next, shifting from the room to find a home in Merlin’s bones. His insides felt like they were buzzing, a serpentine force closing in on every part of him. He couldn’t move an inch, although the thought of doing so didn’t occur to him due to the horrible discomfort that preoccupied his brain.

Before he could get a chance to use what little breath he had to utter a spell, something moved inside of him. One minute his magic was there, and the next it felt like a wall had been put up inside his soul, blocking Merlin from reaching it. The feeling scared him half to death, and no amount of concentration would allow him access. He had been cut off from a part of himself.

The uncomfortable feeling inside him grew worse in severity, and by this point Merlin was in a great deal of pain, like someone had lit his blood on fire. He was trapped inside his own body with it, no magic and no movement and no air as it steadily consumed him alone in the dark room.

Then it stopped for a moment, but only for that, because then it turned into something more terrifying.

The magical charge that had wrapped around his bones felt lighter, like a puff of smoke, and it slithered around inside of him. It was poison, burning and toxic and inescapable.

Something moved inside him again, and it sent Merlin’s vision spinning, as if he’d been thrown down the bottom of a well. All of his senses were extinguished in an instant, and he was both falling and floating in a sinister void.

After some time, though he couldn’t be sure how long, Merlin became somewhat aware again. It wasn’t normal, however. He felt disconnected from everything, watching and hearing and feeling through a dream, a second-hand perspective.

He could see himself moving, feel his legs take step after step without his direction. There was something wrong about this, something very awful, but Merlin could feel himself slipping in and out of the void every second, making focus impossible.

He was a passenger in his own body without the willpower to stop it.

* * *

When Arthur woke up, he knew he wasn’t alone.

He could feel someone standing over him without even opening his eyes, a looming shadow poised to strike under the assumption that king was still fast asleep. There wasn’t much time to act before he’d surely die, and Arthur wasted none of it.

In an instant, he was on his feet, knocking down his assailant and reaching for the sword by his bed. Arthur planted a foot on the person’s chest and brought the point to their chin, pinning them to the ground.

Of all the people he’d expected to see on the other end of the weapon, Merlin’s was the last face Arthur ever would have guessed.

“Dear god, Merlin, I nearly took your head off,” Arthur said with a relieved laugh, not noticing the knife held tightly in his friend’s grip. “How many times do I have to tell you not to go skulking around in the dark?”

There was no reply. Any humour from Arthur’s face quickly vanished.

“Merlin?”

His friend replied by kicking out Arthur’s legs and sweeping him off his feet, and Arthur tumbled to the ground in shock, barely managing to grab onto the bed for support.

A knife was flying at his face before he even had a chance to think, metal glinting in the pale moonlight. Arthur dodged just in time, hearing a cry of frustration as the weapon surely found a mark in a pillow.

Arthur scrambled away from his attacker, who surely couldn’t _really_ be Merlin, sword out in front of him as he prepared for a fight.

“Who are you?” He asked, voice never wavering. It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe someone had used magic to duplicate Merlin’s face.

It had to be magic, right?

The figure pulled the knife from the bed, a low chuckle echoing across the room. Arthur’s heart dropped at the sound, recognizing it as distinctly Merlin’s voice but so distinctly not his tone.

The person sauntered over to Arthur, passing the knife back and forth between their hands, like this was all a game. They made no move to attack, nor did they take any stance to defend.

Without explanation, all the candles in Arthur’s room suddenly sparked to life, filling the room with an eerie warm light. Arthur’s gaze was drawn to them momentarily, mystified by the magical absence of darkness, though the sight of the figure in front of him was enough to render all of that unimportant.

It was Merlin. It was his face and his eyes and his clothes and his hands holding a knife. At the same time, the way he stood, the way he smiled, the way he looked at Arthur was so unlike anything he’d ever seen from his friend, so contrary to who Merlin was as a person.

Physically, it appeared to be him, but there was a capricious callousness there that Arthur could not recognize.

Merlin laughed as Arthur stared at him, entertained by his surprise and confusion.

“You know, I’ve always said you’re an idiot, I just didn’t take you for an oblivious one as well.”

“You’re… you’re not him,” Arthur insisted, though it was more to convince himself rather than to receive confirmation.

“Oh, come off it,” Merlin hissed, seemingly annoyed by Arthur’s distrust in what he was seeing. “Did you really think this would end any differently?”

Arthur kept searching his face for any trace of the man he knew, coming up empty. If there was anything that was truly Merlin standing before him, it was hidden behind a wall of icy hate.

“What… what are you talking about?” Arthur questioned. He felt uncertain in his stance now, sword feeling far too heavy in his hands as the face of his friend leered at him from the other side of it.

A quick but cruel smile flashed on Merlin’s face, and he let go of the knife. Instead of falling to the ground, however, it remained suspended in the air.

Arthur had no time to respond to this oddity, as the knife suddenly launched itself towards his face without Merlin ever touching it. For a second, he thought the blade had missed him entirely. Then he noticed a stinging sensation along his left cheek, something warm beginning to trickle down.

Cautiously, Arthur turned his head to find the weapon, which had embedded itself in the wooden door to his chambers.

When he looked back at Merlin again, his friend was grinning again, a smile that was far to wide with teeth that resembled knives in this most unfortunate stand-off.

“Magic…” Arthur muttered, not realizing the word had left his lips until Merlin started laughing again, an inhuman cackle.

“All this time,” Merlin said, walking closer to Arthur. He didn’t have a weapon anymore, but Arthur knew he didn’t need one. “All this time, waiting patiently to end the Pendragon line. The tyranny of your family ends tonight, Arthur Pendragon, with your blood staining the floors of a castle built on genocide.”

Arthur was moving backwards, sword feeling useless in his hands. Not only would he instantly lose a fight in this situation, he found that he didn’t even want to attempt it. He couldn’t hurt Merlin, even when faced with the hatred that burned in his friend’s eyes.

“Merlin, I won’t fight you,” Arthur promised, backing further and further away as Merlin drew ever closer. “This isn’t you.”

Merlin cried out in anger, his hand shooting out in front of him, and before Arthur could even blink, he found himself colliding with the wall, stone unforgiving against his back. The sword fell from his already weak grip and clattered to the ground, then it shot off across the room due to some invisible force, so far out of Arthur’s reach. He was trapped, winded and helpless on the floor.

“It is, Arthur. It always has been. I’m doing what I should have done years ago,” Merlin snarled at him, and in that moment, he’d never looked more dangerous. “Did you really think we were friends? That I trusted you for even a second? You’re the very reason I have to hide, and I _refuse_ to fear people like you anymore.”

There was a painful, vulnerable sadness in Merlin’s eyes, hidden under the rage he wore as a mask.

It felt too personal to be fake, and it felt too hard-hearted to be real. There seemed to be a mix of truths and lies, parts of the person in front of him that were Merlin and parts that were not, and Arthur couldn’t make sense of it. The ire in his friend’s voice terrified him, but it also made his heart sink in sorrow. He was angry, that much was obvious, but there was a despair to it that made it heartbreaking.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, still reeling from his impact with the wall. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice steady. “I won’t hurt you.”

Another wave of magic pushed him into the wall again, spine digging into stone since there was nowhere else to go. He tried to cry out in pain as it felt like a fist was crushing his lungs, though the lack of air silenced him.

There was banging on the door then, someone clearly having heard the commotion inside. Voices were yelling from the other side, though Arthur couldn’t tell who they were or what they were saying, just that they had no chance of getting in.

“You’ve already hurt me, Arthur,” Merlin said, rage still bubbling in his tone, though he was beginning to lack his cruel confidence.

Merlin’s hands were shaking.

“I can’t let you do it again,” he spit out like venom.

The banging on the door had increased to forceful thuds, those on the other side ramming weight into the wood in hopes of knocking it down.

Arthur paid the commotion no mind, however. He was caught up in looking at his friend’s face, his hands, his head. There seemed to be a great deal of effort going into looking composed, and it was slowly falling apart. Tears were threatening to spill over onto his cheeks, his hands were trembling violently, and his shoulders shook with heavy and panicked breaths.

He looked terrified.

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, just managing to croak out his name. “I won’t hurt you.”

Merlin stared at him, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. He blinked, and suddenly the anger vanished from his eyes, replaced by an unfocused sense of confusion. His hands moved slowly in front of him and Merlin could only stare at them, shakily moving his fingers. The tears finally ran down his face as metaphorical strings seemed to have been cut from him, allowing him to look like the Merlin that Arthur knew.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked with trepidation.

Merlin looked up at him again, this time without contempt, but also without recognition. It was as if Arthur was a stranger to him, a face and a name that Merlin was trying to place but couldn’t.

Cautiously, so as not to disturb this moment of clarity and to not worsen any injuries he might have sustained, Arthur stood. He never took his eyes off Merlin, and Merlin never took his eyes off Arthur.

The door to his chambers swung open abruptly, several of the knights charging in. This event shattered the small breakthrough Merlin had just made, anger consuming his expression once more as he magically forced the door closed again before anyone else could enter.

Arthur could see Gwaine, Elyan, Leon, and Percival all just a few feet away from him, though none of them could move any closer. There was an invisible wall between them, one Merlin had undoubtedly put up and one that Gwaine ran straight into before stumbling backwards. Arthur could see his friends’ mouths moving, shouting at him as they each tried to break the magical barrier, but not even their words managed to slip by it.

The roles of stranger and friend had switched again as Merlin forced Arthur back against the wall once more, his arms pinned along with the rest of him. There was no longer an attempt on Merlin’s part to appear put together, his whole body shaking, and eyes filled with a million different emotions. He just stood there, Arthur at his mercy, as if he was no longer sure of what to do.

“Merlin,” Arthur called to him, “I know you’re in there somewhere.”

“Stop…” his friend muttered, bringing his trembling hands up to his head and holding them there tightly.

“I won’t fight you,” Arthur insisted. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I said stop,” Merlin growled, his grip on his own skull tightening as he shut his eyes in concentration. “Leave me alone, I need to…”

“I won’t leave you,” Arthur said, declaring it as loud as possible with the pressure on his chest.

Merlin slowly looked up and met his eyes again, as if searching for an answer.

“I won’t.”

And with that, something broke through.

Merlin gasped and fell to his knees, Arthur doing the same as the force pinning him to the wall finally vanished, allowing him to breathe. His friend was desperately clutching onto his own arm, shaking from both fear and effort. He was muttering something under his breath, though Arthur couldn’t hear what.

A single tear fell to the ground in front of Arthur, and it took him a moment to realize that it was his own. He had no idea when he’d started crying and stopping didn’t seem important at the moment.

Merlin let out a cry of pain. Arthur started to move closer to him, to comfort him somehow, but Merlin held up his hand, urging him to stay back.

With jerking, halting movements, as if he were wrestling his own arm from within, Merlin placed a hand to the centre of his chest. There was a sentence spoken in a tongue Arthur couldn’t understand, then a flash of gold that quickly encased his friend. An energy filled the room, charging the air like a self-contained storm, the feeling increasing as the glowing gold around Merlin grew brighter and brighter.

There was a small explosion, one that wasn’t tangible but one that Arthur could still feel in his bones, and he was forced to shut his eyes as the light around Merlin became blinding. When he opened them again, the strange energy was gone, and Merlin was lying unconscious on the floor.

A chorus of several panicked voices erupted from beside Arthur, accompanied by footsteps that rushed towards the pair. It seemed the barrier had fallen now that it was all over, but Arthur was determined to get to Merlin before anyone else could.

The gap between them was closed in seconds and Arthur cradled his friend in his arms, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of his chest that indicated he was alive. The barrage of boots hitting stone floor behind him and to his side abruptly halted, moving no closer to Merlin and Arthur, as if the knights sensed that the king was waiting for something.

With a groan, Merlin opened his eyes, and Arthur nearly laughed with relief. His blue eyes stared up at Arthur, rid of the hate that had burned in them just minutes ago, but still full of fear and confusion.

“No offense, Arthur, but you make a pretty poor pillow,” Merlin joked after he finally found his voice, though he was unable to stop his voice from shaking.

Arthur had a million questions about what was just said. About what just happened. About what he’d just seen. There was magic and near-murder and anger and the lot of it was enough to make his head spin. Even though Arthur knew that whatever had attacked him hadn’t really been Merlin, there was a sincerity that it preyed upon that Arthur couldn’t label as false, and there was no other way to explain how Merlin filled the room with a golden light and cast the thing out.

The word hung dangerously in the back of Arthur’s mind, a lifetime of negative associations being dragged forward along with it. His heart felt heavy as a bitter taste rotted in his mouth, all the words his father had instilled in him waiting to take flight.

Arthur swallowed them with ease, never intending for them to be heard ever again.

Merlin was here, and Merlin was safe, and that was what truly mattered.


End file.
